


Extra Credit

by TheWaitingFangirl



Series: Professor Dutch [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cock Warming, Daddy Kink, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Power Dynamics, Professor Kink, Professor!Dutch, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex, dirty talking, don't ask me what he teaches cuz I have no fucking idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 18:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18526717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaitingFangirl/pseuds/TheWaitingFangirl
Summary: Dutch cocked his head to the side, idly play with the gold rings on his thick fingers. “I have a theory,” he smirked now, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “and I’d like to test it out.”“Oh?,” you prompted him on, fidgeting on the sleeve of your worn out wool cardigan.“The outcome,” Dutch groaned, scratching his chin, a very self-pleased aura about himself, “will depend entirely on you; or might I say how you’re going to do, shall you decide to accept it, my dear.”You gnawed on your lower lip, skin prickling slightly in anticipation. “Sir?”“I will write you a commendation letter, my girl,” he spoke offhandedly, smirking when your eyes widened a little. “That shall be enough for your honorable mention, if that’s really what you want.”





	Extra Credit

When you were offered the student aid position, this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind — not really, no. You were glad, of course — a student aid position was going to send your GPA over the  _clouds_  —, but you didn’t expect to be assigned as Mr. Van der Linde’s aid, and even more surprising of you to accept it. When you knocked on the office door, still as dark and riddled with books as you could remember it, he didn’t seem surprised or startled when you slipped in carrying the essays of your fellow classmates.

He didn’t seem particularly surprised neither, when you put the papers on his desk with a sheepish smile, asking in a mellow voice, “will you be needing anything else, sir?”

“My dear,” he started, leaning back on his chair, the perfect vision of temptation — suit jacket discarded, dark-navy waistcoat hugging his lean frame tightly and white shirt rolled up to the elbows. “I’d like to ask you a very serious question.”

The smile on your face cooled, nearly disappearing, and you had to shift from one foot to the other. “Sir?”

Dutch cocked his head to the side, idly play with the gold rings on his thick fingers. “I have a theory,” he smirked now, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “and I’d like to test it out.”

“Oh?,” you prompted him on, fidgeting on the sleeve of your worn out wool cardigan.

“The outcome,” Dutch groaned, scratching his chin, a very self-pleased aura about himself, “will depend entirely on you; or might I say how you’re going to do, shall you decide to accept it, my dear.”

You gnawed on your lower lip, skin prickling slightly in anticipation. “Sir?”

“I will write you a commendation letter, my girl,” he spoke offhandedly, smirking when your eyes widened a little. “That shall be enough for your honorable mention, if that’s really what you want.”

“My commendation letter?,” your eyes widened then, urging him on, too curious for your own good.

Dutch now smirked, clearly amused at your expense, “but bear in mind, sweetheart,” he held his gaze at you, examining your smaller frame from head to toes, “I do not do  _favors_  for my students.” This sent your mind to a screeching halt, tumbling and crashing to the walls of your better judgment. He simply cocked his head to the side, now looking at your face. “I prefer to say… we’re here to help each other.”

You frowned slightly, somewhat flustered and sensing the oncoming blow to the conversation — one that you were sure would rattle you to the bones —, and so you stayed quiet.

The man looked at the papers on top of his desk, hand coming up to rub his thumb on his bottom lip. “You just picked those up?”

“I—,” you stuttered, following his gaze, “yes, um… I did, these are the essays from last week, although I think some in the class didn’t hand it in time—“

He touched the pile of papers, apparently counting the number of students under his tutoring that had followed through with the activity. “It’s enough.”

Again, you frowned. “Enough?”

“How badly do you want to graduate, Y/N?,” Dutch asked at last, turning his dark and brooding gaze to you, an eyebrow cocking up at your clear absence of response. “It’ll be a year from now, I reckon?”

“Ah— yes, it…,” you staggered slightly, “that’s… right.”

He hummed then, nodding as if satisfied with your response. “You have a thesis advisor yet?”

“What’s the point of this, professor Daniel?,” you snapped, the rebellious streak surfacing in your voice as you challenged him. You weren’t just a pretty instrument to be played by him.

“I have a proposition for you,” he continued, not paying mind to your little outburst — and looking very unimpressed, in fact. “I’ll advise your thesis, since I know you haven’t found an advisor yet — and I do believe your project is interesting.”

Dumbfounded, you blinked. What were you supposed to say to him now?

“Sir, I’m very thankful—“

“Don’t thank me yet,” Dutch waved his hand at you, dismissing your gratefulness. “As I said before, this isn’t a favor. I’m going to give you something that you want and you, my beautiful girl, are going to give me something that  _I_  want.”

You swallowed nervously, the slow beating of the antique clock way too loud in the room. It felt too unreal, and yet cliché — something to be expected, really, but it was hard to believe that it was happening to  _you_. “And… what… what is it that you want?”

Dutch seemed very pleased at your question, resting his head back at the cushioned chair with a light smirk. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes, taking in your whole figure deliberately as if summoning the words he wanted to say before actually verbalizing them. “Many things, but for now, I think I’d like to have a smoke.”

Changing your weight from one foot to another, you fidgeted with the sleeve of your cardigan once more. “A… smoke?”

“Get my cigarettes for me,” Dutch huffed, somewhat amused at your confusion; pointedly looking downwards to his front pocket. “And don’t make me repeat myself.”

Gawking at him, you then snapped and gasped indignantly. “I’m not—“

“You will,” he spoke firmly, watching you darkly, like a wolf ready to pounce. “You  _will_ , won’t you?,” his head cocked to the side, “you want to please me. This is your chance.”

You pressed your lips together, fingers flexing restlessly as you weighed your actual options. Should you? Where was this leading to? How long had he been planning this? Is this why you were offered the position as an aid? This couldn’t possibly be ethical—

“Don’t think too hard,” Dutch said finally, looking somewhat caring, but also impatiently waiting for you to move. “Just do as I say.”

Taking the first step forward felt way harder than it should’ve been, and you did it meekly — not daring to look him in the eyes for longer than a couple seconds. He smiled, pleased as you got to his side with a furious blush creeping up your cheeks, and you hesitated for a second; leaning into him for your hand to slip into the left pocket of his chalk-stripe navy dress pants.

Dutch watched you with half-lidded eyes, dark and predatory as only he could be, and the glint there wasn’t missed when your hand brushed the inside of his thigh; doing your best not to touch the obvious bulge of his cock through the linen of his fancy three-piece suit. Your pinkish blush turned into a crimson one when you took hold of the cigarette pack and the man spread his thighs with a quiet sigh at your feather light touch.

“Thank you, my girl,” he spoke easily, taking the carton box from your hands without much of a fuss, the cigarette making its way to his lips in a well known motion — and you stood there, too anxious to move; but also incredibly… hot.

He looked at you then, lightening the cigarette and taking a deep drag. The smirk spread further and you felt small and somewhat silly standing there, behind his dark mahogany desk and next to him. It still felt surreal. “I’m going to correct the essays now.”

Sensing it in the air, you asked somewhat hesitantly, “would you want me to leave?”

Dutch scoffed, taking another drag before answering. “You’re staying,” he moved the papers to his line of eyesight, skimming over them before fixing you with an expectant stare. “Sit, girl,” he patted his thigh.

You stared blankly at him, unbelieving. “… Dut—“

“Come, now,” he flipped the page of the first paper, reading over it, “you do know I don’t enjoy saying the same thing twice,” the red pen scribbled something over the paper, his cigarette burning lazily at the corner of his mouth and he blew a small cloud of smoke. “Don’t you want to do me proud, mhm?,” he flicked the cigarette on the crystal ashtray, fixing you with an expectant stare. “Do as daddy says, sweetheart.”

With your lower lip trembling, you felt your will melt away. Dutch put out the cigarette, stretching a hand out towards you — which you took, shy; but willing. He smiled, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, touch warm and calloused on your skin. You slid into his lap, legs on each side of his thigh as Dutch adjusted you weight on top of him; his hand pulling your waist against him. “Now, there is a good girl, don’t you think?,” he purred into your ear, the minty smell of his aftershave mixing with the smoky tobacco. “Aren’t you?”

“I…,” you whispered, feeling very small and exposed there on his lap. What if someone came in and saw you like this? But Dutch pressed his face to the side of your neck, nose brushing the skin and raising goosebumps in its wake. You blushed, trying hard not to squeal at the prickling of his stubble. “… ah, yes.”

“That’s it,” you felt the smile in his voice, his hand caressing up your thigh and riding your black pleated skirt up, nonchalant and confident. You fought the will to push his hand away, not because you felt uncomfortable but because it was embarrassing — and very lewd in a certain way. “Cute little thing, you are.”

You let out a low keening sound, sighing as he leaned forwards to pay attention on the papers; your eyes barely registering the words he wrote on them and the scribbling in red ink; grades being assigned that easily and effortlessly. That made you squirm on his lap, your own hand coming down to rest on his knee between your legs. “Dutch…”

He didn’t reply, ignoring you instead; turning the page with a single and well-practiced move. You frowned, pressing your lips together as the pen came down to scribble more on the paper; and his other hand brushed up your thigh once more, sliding under the soft fabric of your skirt and the soft skin between your legs. “ _Dutch—_ “

“Try again, sweetheart,” the man whispered back at you, picking up another essay, “you’re smarter.” His hand squeezed the flesh of your thigh, fingers digging into it as he pulled you more fully against his crotch. “I know you are.”

You breathed in sharply then, both hands flying to grasp at his forearm and wrist between your legs. “D— daddy…?”

“ _Smart_  girl,” Dutch praised, now brushing his thumb at the front of your panties and making you squirm, unconsciously pushing back at his lap. You leaned forwards, head low and eyes closed with a deep frown at the new sensation, at him toying and complimenting you — and it was a surprise, really, how easily he had managed to push you around. “You’re not just a pretty little thing,” he quipped at you, voice low and sultry. “You’re smart and want to be praised, isn’t it? Is that why you keep making little mistakes, taking up too much work, baby?”

Dutch cooed at your answering whimper, brushing his fingers over your sex and cotton panties frustratingly on the way. “Do you want me to notice you?,” the man asked, lips touching the back of your neck. “Want daddy to give you some attention?”

You pushed back on his hand, not entirely sure if you should focus on it or the leg between yours; his half hard cock straining at your constant rocking. “Daddy, I—“

His hand grasped at your waist, hugging you to his chest as to keep you from moving too much; and you let out a low, frustrated drawl at it. “You squirm too much,” Dutch hummed, hints of amusement in his voice. “Makes me think you’re almost enjoying this, no?”

“Maybe,” you answered, voice low and tiny compared to his, and when you opened your eyes you saw another two essays graded on your right. “It feels good— daddy…”

“It does, doesn’t it?,” Dutch kissed your neck again, hand around you moving and fingers now rubbing a slow teasing circle over your pussy — and you weren’t ashamed to admit it, you were wet. “You like it, sweetheart?”

You leaned back on his chest now, turning your face to bury it into his neck and you could feel the way he had tensed up; the hand that had been correcting the papers stilling for the moment — but you couldn’t care. You moaned, canting your hips upwards towards his touch with a burning need.

“Stop,” Dutch spoke in a warning tone, pulling his hand away from between your legs to rest it on your waist as to still your body, and you whined; pushing back on him in a deliberate move. You could feel the firmness of his cock, outlined by the expensive dress pants, pushing against the side of your hip insistently as you tried to chase the sensation. “I said,” he hissed then, letting go of his pen and wrapping his long fingers around your neck, “ _stop_ , girl.”

Whimpering, you tried to squirm to no avail upon his lap; hands grasping on the fabric of his trousers and squeezing tightly. “No, I— just… I want—“

“And now we want things, do we?,” Dutch condescended on you, caressing your exposed neck and collarbone. “My, you’re feisty aren’t you?”

You frowned, trying to move and hump on him again, but his hold on you only tightened. “Daddy—“

“How do we say when we want something, sweetheart?,” he hissed into your ear and you could feel your body  _melt_  at the term of endearment that slipped from his lips as sweetly as threateningly. “Won’t you show me your manners?”

With a shaky gasp, you stilled and tried to debate if this was what you really should do, coming to the self-assured recognition that even if you  _didn’t want_  to do this, you’d be lying. Did you want to? Yes. But should you? The answer didn’t matter.

“Oh _, please_  daddy,” you mewled, lips trembling and eyes watering with want, “I need more—“

“Do you, now?,” he mused, more to himself, and you felt the rough brush of his chin against the sensitive back of your neck, goosebumps raising through your body, “what is it that you so desperately need, then?”

“… you, daddy,” you answered promptly, closing your eyes in frustration and embarrassment, dreading the words about to leave your mouth, “inside me.”

Dutch breathed in sharply, the only visible sign that he was as affected by this as you, and the grasp around you slackened. “Stand.”

You turned around to look at him, confused. Had you gone too far? Misread what he had wanted from you? What if—

“I said  _stand_ , girl,” he punctuated it by squeezing the flesh of your thigh firmly, voice dark and threatening, “ _now_.”

Scrambling off of his lap, you got on your feet with wobbly knees and your skirt riding up your waist and rumpling the nice white blouse you had picked for the day. The dark-red woolen cardigan dangled precariously from one of your shoulders and when you turned around to look at the man, meek and anxious, he all but smiled.

“Off with it,” Dutch pointed at your cardigan as he moved to unbutton his vest, briskly shaking it off — and God, something about seeing him wearing a crisp white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves was—, “and don’t make me say it twice.”

Jumping into action, you slipped off the soft coat and allowed it to pool around your feet on the floor, shuffling off your slippers at the same time. Dutch hummed appreciatively, coaxing you forwards and closer to him.

“You’re just so pretty, aren’t you?,” he whispered, hand warm and calloused as it slipped between your thighs and squeezed the softness of your skin, “blooming with it, just begging to be plucked.”

You closed your eyes, allowing him to wander with his caressing and moaning softly. “Daddy…”

Dutch hummed in reply, fingers inching upwards and hooking on the underside of your panties — and you were ashamed to admit at how wet they already were just from the light touching and the teasing he’s given you so far. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he whispered, smiling at your full-body shiver, “all wet for me.”

His fingertips pressed to the tender flesh of your thighs once more before he decided to move upwards, hooking them into your soft-cotton blue panties and dragging it down in a long and deliberate moment, one that almost felt… intimate. You reached out, to hold onto his shoulders to keep your balance as you stepped out of them and he pressed a light kiss to your forearm, pulling the piece of clothing from you — and you weren’t entirely sure where it went to, but it didn’t matter now.

“Be good now,” he whispered to you, calloused hands pushing your just above the knee skirt further up, rumpling the white shirt you had carefully chosen for today, “behave and you’ll have fun, my dear.”

You bit your lower lip, feeling the soft caress of the hem of the skirt caressing your backside. It was hard to keep quiet like that, even more so when Dutch leaned back, smiling at you; as if admiring his handiwork. He cocked his head to the side, hand coming up to scratch at his chin as if in thought; the warm glint of his ringers impossible to miss.

“Off with the shirt,” he demanded, dark and imposing, “I want to see you.”

No hesitation this time — mostly because you were looking forward the “fun” that he had promised —, you unbuttoned the shirt, the unmatching bra — a lacy baby pink with white peeking from below the fabric when you were ready to shrug it off; and you did, the fabric pooling on top of your cardigan and slippers discarded earlier. When you moved to undo your bra, Dutch stopped you with a wave of his hand.

“Keep it for now, sweetheart. You look precious like that,” he drawled, clearly proud at how readily you had complied to his request. The man eyed the remaining essays on top of his desk, looking back at you with unhurried ease, hands coming down to undo the buckle of his belt in a deliberate and uncaring motion. “Do you want to sit on daddy’s lap now?”

You blushed further, trying not to look down at his lap where he obviously had freed himself, hands slowly pumping his cock to a full erection. With a meek voice, you cast your eyes to the side, whispering, “yes, daddy.”

“Come here, baby,” Dutch called in a hushed tone, urging you further to his lap as to sit there facing him this time. His hand cradled your hip, curling there and squeezing softly as the other disappeared down below, a finger dipping into your pussy to check for wetness before taking a hold of himself, “you’ll be a good girl for daddy, won’t you?”

Squirming, your let out a broken whimper and clutched to his shoulders with a furrow on your brow, “yes…”

“You’ll sit here,” he spoke, voice demanding attention, as if in one of his classes, “and daddy will finish correcting the papers.” At this, you pouted, the protest blooming in your chest dying out as soon as Dutch cupped your cheek, “yes, yes, hush now,” he smiled, drawing his thumb down as to press it in your mouth and you instinctively ran your tongue over the pad, sucking on it. “And once daddy’s done, he’s going to fuck you silly, do you understand?”

With a begrudging nod, you agreed to his words — because what else could you do?  _No_  wasn’t something you wanted to say, not now anyways. “Okay, daddy.”

Dutch huffed a breath, cocking his head to the side with an expectant smirk, “what else?”

Your eyes widened, the flush spreading further down your exposed neck and ears — and when you tried to look away from him, his fingers pulled your face back to his, his eyes focused on you.

“I’m… thank… thank you, daddy.”

The smile widened then, Dutch apparently satisfied at your display of submission, and the hand on your hip pulled you down and towards his chest — your head resting against the crook of his neck as you sunk onto his cock; slowly, steadily, inch by inch, making you gasp and shiver, clinging onto his shirt at the intrusive sensation. It stung a bit, not enough to make it unpleasant, but  _more_  than enough to remind of how  _full_  you were at the moment.

Dutch ran his big hand over your back, soothing and gentle like you didn’t imagine he’d be capable of — and that made you shiver, moaning quietly and clinging harder to him, your knees sinking into the warm leathery seat of his desk chair. He shushed you quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple as he rummaged through the papers; the moving of his thighs under yours enough to make you want to cry out and rock down on him.

When you were offered the position as student aid, that wasn’t what you had in mind — no, not at all in fact. Gulping nervously you squirmed, painfully embarrassed, although not enough to turn away on the affair, sitting snugly on his lap; Dutch’s fingertips caressing the soft skin of your thigh below the skirt. You keened lowly then, trying to get more of his cock inside by pressing down on him, unconsciously clenching around it with needy lust and—

“Don’t be greedy now,” Dutch admonished you, stilling your hips with a heavy hand, “be a good girl for daddy. You wanted this, remember?”

You whimpered weakly, tucking your head under his chin with a weak nod, core trembling in need — and by god, he felt so firm and big under you, a constant reminder of how Mr. Van der Linde could just up and fuck you against the mahogany desk of his office, manhandle you and whisper dirty things in your ear and—

“ _Daddy_ ,” you moaned quietly into the skin of his neck, yet he seemed unphased by it. “ _Please_ —“

“Don’t,” Dutch answered, a hand snaking down to brush lightly on your clit and you bucked up on it; only to have his hand squeezing on your waist to remind you to stay still.

The steady scratching of the pen on paper kept going, Dutch sighing in deep thought and paying no mind to you or your soft complaints; even as you shivered at the obvious huff of breath on your shoulder. There was the rustle of paper on his desk and, at the same time, the hand down under your skirt moved to squeeze the supple skin of your thigh. You pursed your lips, closing your eyes as you tensed up to keep from moving too much on his lap — and he still paid no mind to you.

You pressed down again, whimpering quietly and pulling at the roots of hair at the base of his head in a desperate plea for release. Dutch hummed in annoyance, muttering a quiet “let go, princess,” and when you pretended not to hear it, the hand on your thigh moved and delivered a soundly slap to your backside. You yelped, bucking up in surprise, soon followed by a low whine.

“You naughty little thing,” Dutch huffed, kneading the tingling skin, “you know better than to defy daddy like that. Don’t act up on me, princess,” he whispered now, breath past his lips brushing against the shell of your ear and making you  _shiver_ , “unless you’re sure you can handle it.”

Dutch leaned forwards, the change in angle making it all feel so much  _deeper_  inside of you, the pressure nearly overwhelming. You keened quietly, squeezing his shoulders once more as a dark chuckle rolled out of his tongue.

“What a pretty essay you put up this time.”

 _What_.

“You can’t be…,” you turned around taking a look at the paper in front of him, your name printed out at the top of the page. Your gaze turned to him, eyes wide as embarrassment took over.

“You should stay really quiet if you want daddy to focus and grade you accordingly, don’t you think?,” he mocked, the fingers on your waist drumming up your back, undoing your bra with the help of his other hand. “After all, your GPA looks so pretty now…”

It was true, that getting the position as a student aid had sent your GPA over the clouds, but he wouldn’t—

“Please,” you pleaded, somewhat desperate, “I’ll be quiet, I promise—“

Dutch smiled then, pulling the bra from your shoulders and tossing it to the side with a pleased sigh, calloused palms cupping your breasts tenderly, almost lovingly. “Good girl,” he groaned, kneading the soft flesh slowly before looking up at you with a smug smile. “Won’t you give daddy a kiss to show how grateful you are?”

With a quiet moan, you leaned forwards, one arm lacing around his neck while the other curled between your bodies; fingers brushing the sharp line of the man’s jaw. The kiss, when it came, was sweet and intoxicating — and you tried to ignore the fact that you were to kiss the man now, for the first time, after he’s already bottomed out in your pussy. Dutch sighed, pleased and languid, unable to avoid the unconscious thrust of his hips up into the inviting warmth of your sex.

“Daddy—,” you whimpered, kiss turning from a gentle ember to a roaring fire at the quiet groaning from the man below you, “I’ll be good, I—“

“Yes,” Dutch agreed heatedly, fingers digging into the skin of your buttocks and pulling you down onto him, “yes, a good girl aren’t you?”

You gasped at it then, as he started to move you on his cock; and your hips soon followed the desperate rhythm. He leaned back, moaning lowly as you pushed down on him, clinging to the crispy whiteness of his dress shirt.

“Look at you,” he growled, a palm coming up to cup your cheek rather roughly — but you didn’t mind, you didn’t—, “such a sweet little thing, aren’t you?”

You nodded, face burning hot at the sensation of his hand on it, blushing furiously; a sob blossoming from deep within your chest as he hugged your smaller frame into his chest with a trembling huff. “Oh,  _God_ —“

“My girl,” came the answering groan and you felt the hand on your face move to cradle your head to his chest, holding you there in a protective and somewhat selfish manner, “you’re making daddy so proud, sweetheart.”

Dutch pushed up, your body still held within his grasp as he set you on the table; the cool surface of the dark desk raising goosebumps on your skin. The papers scattered, some sliding off, others crumpling under you or simply floating away, but neither of you cared, you couldn’t—

“ _Fuck_ ,” the man cursed, pressing his body snugly to yours, the head of his cock pushing in somewhat too deep, “feel so good, baby—“

Whimpering, you closed your eyes, arching your body up and digging your fingers into the exposed skin of his forearm; other hand wrapping around the back of his neck in a vice grip. The desk rattled at the first few thrusts, Dutch holding your hips down against it to keep you still and pliant under him.

“Please,” you gasped out, desperately clinging to him, legs lacing around his, “ _please—_ “

He all but snickered, looking down at you with wonder. Dutch pressed his thumb into your mouth again, pleased to see that you complied and started suckling on it; brows furrowed and eyes closed. “You want to cum, sweetheart?”

You nodded, whining lowly and arching your hips up for a better angle, and Dutch pressed a soft kiss to your chest; thrusting purposeful and languid to get the most out of it from you, but it was when he pressed a finger — the thumb previously in your mouth — down on your clit that your release came, flaming hot and desperately sweet at the same time. And at that, you cried out, curling under him as he kept going to let you ride out the final waves of your blissful orgasm, still shaking and breathless under him—

“ _Shit—,_ ” Dutch groaned, pulling out and before you could ask why, you felt the hot splash of his seed on your thigh, hand coming down to jerk his spent cock a couple more times. You closed your eyes, basking in the bliss of release, bare chested and exposed on his desk with your legs still wrapped around your professor.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whispered, smiling at yourself when Dutch huffed out a laugh above you, the sound sweet and endearing in a way you couldn’t quite place your finger at.

And when he put out the grades on the notice board next week, claiming that the essays were to be kept by the graduation Dean, you simply smiled at your perfect mark.


End file.
